Bob rose late, mid-afternoon. He’d reach for the glass of Jack Daniels which he was only without during short-lived binges of sobriety, then hang out with the menagerie of people who were usually around—friends, a lover, dealers, collectors, visitors from up North. There was plenty of laughter while someone prepared dinner, which I remember as being ready sometime around midnight. Bob held the stage with his actor’s baritone and theatrical chuckle, his eyes crinkled and sharply alert. He was present and paying attention, but in the background, and under it all was the TV, its staccato images of breaking news and sitcoms blinking across the screen, carrying indiscriminate messages from the outside world.